


One of Those Days

by ThomE_Gemcity_06



Category: NCIS, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bamf!Tim, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Drama, Fallen Angels, Gibbs Slap, Guardian Angels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash, Supernatural Hunters, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:10:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9310982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThomE_Gemcity_06/pseuds/ThomE_Gemcity_06
Summary: When Tim gets attacked in the park, who could have guessed that this was the one person who could make his life better?





	1. Chapter 1

It was one of those days, you know? The day where nothing goes the way you planned. Yup, that's the one. And that was the type of day it turned out to be for Timothy McGee, NCIS Special Agent.　

It started out good enough: he awoke bright and early, more energized than in the past week. He ate a big breakfast loaded with calories, and decided that: Since he was up earlier than usual and felt some what giddy, he would take Jethro (his McMutt) for an extra long run that morning. He hadn't the time to run with him lately and Tim figured this extra long run would more than make up for it. There was always the plus that Jethro would be all tuckered out for the dog sitter.　

-xxx　

The ground was wet and slick under his running shoes, it had rained last night—and, looking up at the sky it looked like one of those dreary days. DiNozzo hated them; always ending up with wet socks. But Tim on the other hand, liked them. When it rained it was like the streets were being cleansed of all the sin from past days, and it's reborn when the rain dries.　

Tim only paid mind enough to his surroundings to keep from splashing in the puddles; Jethro, on the other hand really didn't give a crap, as long as he was with his Human, he was content. Every time he thumped through a puddle, a splash of water would rise and catch Tim's pant leg, soaking his shins and shoes in the process—So much for trying to avoid puddles, he thought riley.　

Suddenly feeling nervous, Tim slowed down to a stop, Jethro stopping with him—panting with his tongue hanging willy-nilly out the side of his mouth.　

Not knowing why he was so nervous, Tim looked around the park noticing for the first time that the park was deserted. How had he not noticed this before? _Maybe_ , the voice in his head (sounding disturbingly like DiNozzo) said, _it's because when you got here, there were people, but gradually they went away. The cars, too,_ the voice pointed out. And it was true, not a passing car in sight. Hit gut churned and he knew that he should get out of there, and get out of there now!　

He was about to tug on Jethro's leash to get the dog moving, when a low growl rumbled through his throat into the still air.　

That was when some hell broke loose.

Jethro yelped as something pierced his skin and by the time a very freaked out McGee could find out what had caused it, Jethro had wobbled on his feet before falling to the wet grass. Tim pulled a dart from Jethro's thigh, inspecting it closely as adrenalin rushed throughout his body, all his senses alert for any movement or sound. The dart looked like one of the ones that could be shot from a tranquilizer gun. And for both his and Jethro's sake, he hoped it was just that—tranquilizers.　

He wished he had his gun, but what help would that be to him anyway? It's not like he could see his enemy. Nor did he have a cell phone on his person to call for help with. And would backup be there in time or would he just become the one of many bodies on Ducky's table?　

Tim craned his head around to look at the surrounding woods, from his crouched position by Jethro he was out in the open. There was a tree about twenty yards away that he could use for cover. It was a probability of fifty-fifty chance that he would make it.　

Just as he was readying himself for a grab and run, he felt a pinch on no other than his ass, which happened to be sticking in the air. Before he could pull the offending dart out, he could feel two more sharp pinches as two more darts landed home.　

The effects were almost instantaneous; he felt dizzy and his limbs started to feel like lead. His stomach rolled and he wanted so much to puke that he gagged but nothing came up. His eyelids felt heavy and with each blink they stayed closed even longer. His mind was fogging up, he tried to fight it but his body had never needed to become immune to this sort of this.　

So he was helpless as he fell hard onto his knees, the gravel poked through the thin material of his track pants and dug into his sensitive flesh of his knees. He wanted to yell for help but his tongue had gone numb.　

As he slumped forward into the dirt beside Jethro, the crunching of gravel beneath boots met his ears. He probably would have tensed if the drugs hadn't made his body so relaxed.　

A blurry pair of steel toe boots came into his line of sight, a soft grunt and a man was kneeling in front of him. The man’s face was slightly blurry for Tim, so he had to squint his forest green eyes to clear the image.　

From what he could tell: His soon to be capture looked to be in his late twenties, maybe a few years older than Tim himself. Emerald green eyes. Short, spiky dirty blond hair. A chin full of stubble. He wore blue jeans, a black t-shirt, dark green button up shirt, with a leather jacket over all of that. From around his neck hung a necklace that swung back and forth so Tim couldn't make out what it was of. Tim also noticed that he had a ring too, as the man’s hands came towards his face. He flinched as the hand made contact, Tim was expecting the slight sting of a slap. But he opened his slightly unfocused and looked at the man in confusion.　

The man had not hit Tim, but instead was had cupped his cheek, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on Tim's pale face—and that baffled him. Tim felt the man’s other hand trail lightly over his back before he felt the darts being pulled free, the man stored them in his jacket pocket. His butt stung from the three darts and he knew that he had bled some; those darts were pretty big.　

Tim knew he probably should have freaked when the guy started to tug down his pants, but how could you panic when your body and mind were so relaxed? The guy spit in his hand before smearing it on the three bloody pricks on Tim's ass. Tim felt a hot burn and winced, before his face relaxed into that of bliss as the burning went cool. The man pulled Tim's pant's back up and carded a hand through his hair in a comforting motion.　

Tim knew he should have been scared out of his mind. He and his dog had just been shot with darts and some guy just pulled his pants down and basically spit on his ass. Who knew what he was going to do to him, what he was going to do with Jethro? But as Tim laid with his head in the stranger’s lap, fingers carding through his hair—he felt safe, like he did with Gibbs. Though there was something different about this feeling, something more…　

And as he eye’s slid closed, "I've been waiting for you for a very long time, Tim." Was whispered in his ear with such promises that a shiver slid down his spine. He let darkness take him as he felt breath against his skin and a ghostly kiss against his temple.　

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tim kept his eyes closed as he tried to get his bearings; when he awake he had expected to have his head pounding from the after effects of the drug that had been injected into his butt three times over. But his head was as clear as day; no fog or pounding, and that relaxed him because now he could think clearly.　

Soft and smooth material rested against his skin, and he couldn't stop his fingers from rubbing it between his long fingers. _Velvet_. He could feel it against every inch of his body — _Wait! What? Every inch of My body_! His eyes snapped open at that, because really, it was one thing that this mystery man spit on his butt, but it was another to undress him before putting him in really, _really_ soft clothes.  　

Okay, so it didn't really bother him as much as he was willing to admit. In truth, the touching had been nice; _God_ , how no one had touched him in such a long time. And it was nice to wake up and be covered in such silky material. Tim looked around him; he was actually in his own bedroom and that confused the hell out him. He took a quick glance at Jethro's dog bed and breathed a sigh of relief. Jethro was there, curled into a comfy ball as he snoozed away like nothing was amiss. And that had caused Tim to relax even more, because if Jethro wasn't freaking then he had no need to any freaking himself.　

Though what made him want to freak was the fact that he wasn't freaking.　

Because he should really be freaking at the moment. Going on a innocent walk with your dog, then being drugged, cradled and basically fondled by a stranger who happened to know your name, then waking up in your own bedroom apartment in very soft pyjamas should cause you to freak. But Tim just laid back and stared up at the ceiling, wondering when he would meet that handsome man again as he rubbed the silky material between his fingers.　

Idly, he thought he should go into work or should at least call in sick. Because Tim knew that Tony would snoop around sooner or later, Tim would have preferred _never_.　

"How are you feeling?"　

Tim sucked in a surprise breath, his head jerking towards the doorway where a figure stood somewhat in the shadows. Jethro didn't even twitch.　

"I didn't mean to scare you." Said the same rough voice.　

"You didn't scare me." Tim denied as the person stepped into the light. It was the same man from the park that shot him in the butt, though now he held a mug of steaming liquid, had sock clad feet and a simple dark green button up that was left open with the sleeves rolled up. _It brings out his eyes_ , Tim thought idly.　

The man chuckled as he walked towards the bed, causing a shiver to go down Tim's spine once again. He held the mug out to Tim, who hesitated a moment before taking it. Their fingers brushed and Tim couldn't help but feel the spark of electricity that ignited between them.　

"Five sugar, five cream, right?" the man asked as he sat himself at the foot of the bed facing Tim. Tim took a tentative sip from the warm liquid and flavour blazed through his mouth, his eyes slipped closed. "It's Hazel Nut creamer." the man informed Tim before he took another big gulp from the cup. _God, it tasted so good._

"Who are you?" Tim asked after he swallowed and set the cup aside; he was damn curious and it didn't really seem fair that the man knew his name, yet Tim didn't know his. "It only seems fair." Tim pointed out.　

A grin made itself known on the man’s tan face, "Bond, James Bond."　

Tim groaned, hitting his head against his head board; _Please, God, oh please don't let him be like Tony_. Tim shook his head back and forth, his eyes squeezed tight in denial.　

"Dean Michael Winchester." Dean corrected after witnessing Tim's episode; he had watched the man long enough to have seen all of his colleagues, and he distasted Anthony 'Tony' DiNozzo.　

Tim open his eyes again and looked the man in the eye; trying to see if he was telling the truth. He nodded, "Dean," he tried the name out and found that it fit the man to the letter. "Timothy Gregory McGee." Tim said sticking out his hand, Dean griped his hand firmly but didn't let go. Tim didn’t mind one bit.　

"You can ask me," Dean said, his voice filled with humour. "Anything," he said the last part with a low bedroom voice, his eye hooded.　

Tim nodded, a blush marring what felt like his whole body. He swallowed, "What do you want with me?"　

"All I want is you," Dean said without a second’s hesitation.　

"And why do you want me?" Tim asked after a few beats of silence, "You could probably have anyone in the whole world, just waiting to get into your pants, so why me? You’re different," he stated, "I can feel it."　

"And that's why I want you, you’re different, like me."　

"Different how?" Tim asked, getting a gut feeling that he was going to like where the conversation had turned. He was a little genius freak and he knew it, so did other people who were never to shy to point it out. Verbal or physical; _He hated the physical, especially when he was a kid, too small to fight back_.　

"It's in you blood," Dean told him with a soothing smile.　

"What's in my blood?"　

"The DNA of a fallen angel."　

Everything felt as if it were put on mute for a second, "Right!" Tim snorted out, "Angels aren't real." Tim told Dean, though he didn't sound truly convinced.　

"You know they are," Dean said patiently.　

"Prove it."　

"Okay," Dean said, getting up. Tim was starting to panic, thinking he had just drove the man away, but sighed in relief when Dean turned around a few feet from the bed.

Tim watched as Dean rolled his shoulders. A wind from nowhere blowing through the room. He hunched his shoulders, lightning and thunder bounced in the sky outside, he puffed out his chest and pulled his shoulders back. Everything went pitch black for a second before a big thing of lightning and thunder lit up the room. Tim couldn't help the gasp that escaped him as shadows of what looked to be twenty feet a piece of wings appeared on the wall behind Dean, on the roof and walls on either side.　

As quick as it came it was gone; the shadow of wings, the wind, lightning and thunder. Tim felt dazed as he stared at Dean with his mouth hanging open; Dean chuckled at the other man as he sat back on the bed.　

"Next question."　

"Uh," Tim shook his head, trying to get his thoughts back in order. "Okay," he thought for a second. "You're an angel, right?" at Dean's nod he continued, "So if your an angel then why did you dart me in the butt, when you could have easily knocked me out with you God-like powers?"　

Dean laughed, not the deep chuckle, but a throaty laugh. Tim looked at him quizzically, an eyebrow raised. Dean calmed down enough to wipe the laugh tears from his eyes as he took deep breaths.

"What's so funny?" Tim asked, somewhat hurt by the notion that Dean found his question funny.

"It wasn't the question," Dean said, but he paused for a second, "Okay," he conceded, "It was part of the question."　

"And which part was that?"　

" _God-like powers'_ "　

"How is that funny?" Tim pouted.　

"Sorry, you'd have to have been there." Dean said, he demeanor back to normal. "And about the darts; what can I say: I'm a old fashioned."　

Tim smiled. "You sound like Gibbs," he commented then froze, because how could he have forgotten? " _Gibbs_! I can't believe I forgot." Tim tried frantically kicked his blankets off, but that only twisted them further.　

Dean snorted. "It's taken care of," he told Tim.　

Tim froze. "Taken care of, how?" he asked, suspicious.　

"They’re not going to come here and bother us and they’re not going to start asking questions." Dean shrugged his shoulder, nonchalant. "Food poisoning."　

Tim looked at Dean intently for a moment before nodding his head tentatively, "Okay,"　

"Alright then, next Question."　

"How is this going to work?" Tim asked, "I mean, you and me."　

Dean just shrugged his shoulders, "How does any relationship work."　

"Does that mean we're _in_ a relationship?" Tim asked nervously.　

"Do you want us to be in a relationship?" Dean asked, his eyebrow raised in question.　

"Well, uh, I-I don't know. I mean, I don't even really know you—at all." Tim stuttered out, as his ocean green eyes found a wrinkled in his blanket very interesting.

"Then we should get to know one another, then shouldn’t we?" Dean smiled, shrugging his shoulders again. Tim was starting to think it was a regular occurrence.　

"Like a… Like a date?" Tim questioned. He sucked at dating and his dates thought he sucked too, he was in for the long haul, but apparently they never were, that or they just didn't understand him well enough to get to want to know him.　

"How else do people in relationships get to know each other?" Dean asked in exasperation.　

"In public?" Tim asked as if Dean didn't say a word.　

"Is that a problem?" Dean demanded.　

"No," Tim shook his head quickly, "No, it's not a problem. I just wanted to make sure, is all." He reassured.　

"Okay." Dean allowed, "Anything else?"　

"Yeah," Tim nodded, "Just one more thing." A glint appeared in his eye as he smiled innocently at Dean from across the bed.　

"And that would be?" Dean prompted.

"Do you have a, well, _you know_?" Tim said, swiftly glancing between Dean's crossed legs.　

Dean sputtered, indignant. "What! How could you even asked something like that?" Dean demanded, his face gaining color. "Of course I have one! What do you think I am!?"　

Tim clutched his sides as he burst with laughter, falling on his side he clutched at the blankets trying to breathe.　

"You’re the Devil, Tim, the Devil I tell ya!" Dean crossed his arms, his lower lip sticking out in a pout.　

And by God, that had to be the cutest thing Tim had ever seen. He told Dean so, which only caused the other man to sputter more, which in turn caused Tim laugh even harder.　

 


	3. Chapter 3

Tim rinsed his coffee mug before putting it in the sink, and patted his hands dry with the hand towel hanging from the stove. As he leaned back against the counter, he let a small smile play across his lips. In the living room he could see Dean at his computer, hunched over the mouse and keyboard. At the angle Tim was all he could see on the screen was a glare, he thought about sneaking up on Dean and scaring the crap out of him. But then he shook the thought from his mind, Tim didn't want to get smite on accident or something.　

He heard a sound blare through the speaker before Dean quickly turned them off. To Tim it sounded distinctly like a—like a _moan_. 　

" _Dean."_ Tim said as calmly as he could under the circumstances. Because, really? Angel Dean looking at _Porn_ , there was no way. But Tim felt his suspicions being confirmed when he saw Dean freeze for a second before his hand shot out and turned the computer screen off.

Dean swiveled around in the chair as Tim came out of the kitchen, "What can I do for you, Tim?"　

Tim crossed his arms over his chest as he stared Dean down, who in turn actually looked guilty; looking away from Tim every few seconds.　

"What are you doing, Dean?" Tim asked, looking down sternly at Dean.　

"Nothing," Dean lied, looking as if he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.　

 _More like; down his pants_ , Tim thought bemused. A grin was trying to break across his face. "Really?" Tim asked. And to the shock of Dean, Tim reached around him and pressed the screen button quick like a cat. Tim smiled triumphantly as he stood back up, the screen now glowing.　

Dean spun his chair around, the color leaving his face as he gnawed on his cheek. Tim couldn’t suppress the laughter as _Busting' Asian Beauties_ filled the screen.　

" _Porn_? Dean, it's 6:30 in the morning."　

"Hey!" Dean defended, "I have needs too, you know."　

Tim snickered as he slipped on his shoes, "I never said you didn't, Dean."　

Dean huffed but couldn’t help it as his gaze trailed over Tim's bent body, specifically his butt. His tongue snaked out and wetted his lips as he stood from his chair and walked over to Tim's bent form. Dean placed his hands on either of Tim's hips, pressing up against him. Tim sucked in a breath as he felt Dean's tented boxers, as he stood back up from putting on his shoes, Dean twisted him around and pressed Tim against the door.　

"What are you doing, Dean?" Tim asked, breathless as he felt himself grow hard as Dean rubbed against him.　

"Well," Dean started as he sucked on Tim's neck, "What's better than going to work with a hard on?"　

"Oh, I don't know, Dean. How about going to work without one?" Tim tried to put as much sarcasm into that one sentence as he could under the circumstances.　

Just as Tim grew fully hard, Dean gave him one last rub before he backed away and sat back down into the computer chair. He leaned back in the chair with his hands behind his head and his legs splayed open. Tim leaned back against the wall, panting for breath as his eyes trailed down Dean, stilling when they landed on the tent in his boxers. Tim licked his lips as he saw the small wet patch where the pre-cum soaked into the material.　

"Are you going to remember to walk Jethro?" Tim asked Dean, his pupils blown wide with arousal.　

"Sure," Dean nodded, his hand trailing down his chest seductively. He rubbed the head of his cock through the material of his boxers, his head falling back against the chair back as he moaned, "You better get going, Tim, before _L.T_ breaks your zipper."　

Tim let his eyes travel over Dean sculptured body one last time before he opened the door. "Your the biggest tease in the world, Dean, you know that?" Tim said before stepping out.　

Dean just smirked as he stuck his hand down his boxers and grabbed his member, slowly he moved his hand up and down. Tim closed the door before he jumped the man.　

-xxx　

As Tim pressed the button for the bullpen floor he waited patiently; all he had to say was that he was in a patient happy mood. Sure, Dean gave him an erection before he left for work, but other than that he left his apartment happy. He hadn't felt like this for a long time. It was kind of like he was— No, he had only known the man for like 25 hours and that included sleep. 　

The doors started to close…　

"Hold it!" someone yelled in a breathless voice.　

Tim jerked from his thoughts and by reflex stuck his hand between the closing doors, they paused and an inch before crushing the extremity, pulled back into the wall. As Tim saw who ran into the elevator, he wished he never stuck his hand out.　

"Thanks, Probie." Tony panted out as he righted himself. "So your late, too, huh?"　

"What are you talking about, Tony?" Tim asked confused.　

"What I'm saying, McTardy, is that you get to go first. Because you have to make up for your missing Gibbs’ slaps." Tony informed, "Actually, as Senior Field Agent, I order you to go first." As if to prove his point, Tony lifted his hand ready to give Tim a Gibbs Slap himself.　

Without even realizing, Tim grabbed Tony's hand just a few precious inches from his head, before he ministered his own Gibbs Slap. Silence filled the small space of the elevator, as both men stared at each with wide eyes. Tony's because who was he to expect Probie to do something like that, like ever? And Tim probably shouldn't have been too surprised, even though he had hardly spent a day with Dean, things were already starting to rub off on him.　

"It's only 7:30, Tony," was all Tim said as the doors to the elevator opened to the bullpen. He stepped out leaving a very stunned, very confused Tony.　

"Good morning, Ziva." Tim greeted the Mossad Agent.

"And good morning to you too, McGee." Ziva nodded from behind her desk, "You are looking well beyond your days."　

Tony laughed loudly at the comment as he flopped in his chair.　

Tim froze and pivoted on his foot to face Ziva again. "Did you just call me old, Ziva?" he demanded, his head tilted slightly to the side with an eyebrow raised. Ziva opened her mouth to answer, but guess-who opened their mouth first?　

"Yes, she did." Tony laughed, "Probster just turned into McOldster."　

Tim's head snapped towards the Senior Field Agent, his eyes narrowed. Tim walked towards Tony, each step getting angrier and angrier. When he reached Tony, he twisted the chair around so it faced him. Tony's eyes were wide as Tim placed a hand on each armrest and leaned forward, Tony's chair leaning back in measure. Ziva was already up from her chair, ready to pull Tim off if the need arise.　

Tim leaned forward so that their faces were only an inch or two apart before he looked Tony in the eye for a silent moment. Tony actually really wanted to squirm; he had never seen Probie act this way before. _Maybe he's a pod person,_ Tony thought.　

"Say's the man who's precisely: 42 years, 3 months, 18 weeks, 27 days, 11 hours and 33 seconds. As to someone who's: 30 years, 7 months, 21 weeks, 12 days, 2 hours and 14 seconds." Tim retorted, waiting for the twin gasps before he let his mouth curve.　

"And what does that make me, McGee?"　

Tim didn't even hesitate, "That's what makes you the boss, Boss." Tim said as he stood up right a genuine smile on his face. He turned his back and went towards his desk.　

Which for anyone to do was a big mistake, because Gibbs' hand was coming down full force. And just like in the elevator, Tim stuck up his hand and blocked it, though he didn't Gibbs Slap Gibbs, because it was Gibbs after all.　

Gibbs didn't comment on the matter as everyone stared at Tim with wide eyes. And Tim felt a slight blush mare his face, not the pale completion that usually would have taken hold the younger agent. And that was when Tony knew something was up.　

"Gear up," Gibbs ordered after hanging up his desk phone. "Got a dead petty Officer in Rock Creek."　

As everybody grabbed their gear, no one commented on Tim's behavior. But unknown to Tim, the other three agents were thinking the same thing: _What the hell's up with McGee_?　

To put it simply, that is.　

-xxx　

Tim sighed in relief as his hit the print button; they had actually finished the case early.

PO Jared Kenneth had slept with PO Eric Yorgins’ girlfriend and he found out. Let's just say Yorgins beat the crap out of Kenneth, knocking him unconscious. Adrenalin rushing through his veins, Yorgins misdiagnosed Kenneth’s condition. Thinking him dead, Yorgins panicked, found some old rope in the park near by and tied Kenneth to some rocks before dump him in the lake. And that was where he actually died; drowned without even noticing it. And as it turns out, Kenneth never did sleep with Yorgins’ girlfriend.　

Tim let a quick smile out as he collected the papers from the printer an put them into a folder, before he walked over to Gibbs’ desk. "Done my report, Boss." Tim said, holding out the folder.　

Gibbs glanced up and just stared up at Tim. "Boss?" Tim asked, confused.　

Gibbs took the folder and set it on his desk. "My office, McGee." He sighed. Tony snickered from across the room, but closed his mouth quickly when he glanced into Gibbs’ glare.　

Tim sighed as he followed Gibbs to the elevator. He guessed he should have seen this, the way he had been acting today, superior and as if nothing could touch him. And every time he could feel the Gibbs slap coming and before he could stop it, his arm came up and blocked the slap. Good for his head, bad for his ears. Tim knew he was probably going to get an ear full from Gibbs, but he was more likely to get glared at with those ice blue eyes until he cracked. But what did he really have to crack about? There was no way in hell that he was going to inform Gibbs about Dean, and Dean said it would be better if they didn't know. And when Tim had asked why, he said: " _It's not that I don't want people to see, I do. Because I want them to see that they were the idiots who gave you up, and that now it's too late because I never will. I just don't want them to find out because of what I am; it would just put them in danger is all_." And Tim had understood that; so he wasn't going to say a word, not even to Abby.　

Tim stood silent as the doors slid closed and the emergency brake lights kicked in, there was only silence as Gibbs crossed his arms and stared— _No,_ Tim corrected, _more like glared daggers_. 　

"Something on your mind, McGee?" Gibbs asked, much to Tim's relief. Talking was somewhat better than glaring.　

"Not really, Boss." Tim answered, "Just happy."

"And what about the attitude?"　

"What attitude?" Tim asked, he didn't remember any attitude.　

"All those snark comments—"　

"I was just giving back what he gave." Tim defended himself, "Every time he calls me names, you never drag his sorry ass into ' _Your Office_ ', now why is that?" he demanded. _It's always the same_.　

"Again with the attitude—" Gibbs started, but Tim cut him off with a slice of his hand through the air.　

"No, Gibbs, you have no idea. I have never given you any attitude about anything ever. When Abby was attacked by her stalker at my apartment, that was her own fault. She let him in without out even checking to see who it was, when I specifically told her to not let anyone in unless it was me! But did you take that into consideration when I was punished for her mistake? No, because she's your favourite and so is Tony. I'm nothing but a grunt to you and it took me seven years to do it, but the realization has hit and it's not going away, Gibbs." Tim angrily flipped the switch again and it wasn't long before the doors started to open, "I'll have my resignation to you in the morning."　

Tim was royally pissed as he turned a stepped from the elevator, and that pissed Gibbs off more than being back talked to. His hand rose into the air, ready to make long overdue contact with the back of Tim's head. Tim ground his teeth together; Gibbs should have learned that his hand was never going to make contact with the back of Tim's head. And if Gibbs hadn't learned it, than Tim was just going to have to show him how it felt.　

Before the hand made contact, Tim spun around and in one fluid movement grabbed Gibbs' wrist and twisted his arm behind his back. Then he Gibbs Slapped Gibbs. The silence that filled the room was deafening as each and every agent on that floor watched in silence the scene before them.　

A few second ticked by before Tim let go of Gibbs’ arm and walked back to his desk, he casually slung his backpack over his shoulder. "It will be there on your desk in the morning, Gibbs." Tim said as he passed Gibbs on the way to the elevator.　

"Did hell just freeze over?" Tony whispered to Ziva.　

"Solid." Ziva agreed.　

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't know already L.T is Tim's you-know-what.


	4. Chapter 4

Tim's mind was in a turmoil by the time he arrived back at his apartment. He had no idea what he just did. Oh wait, yes he did. _He quit_! Is what he did. And he didn't really know why. Okay, so he had a few suspicions. Like the one about the name calling, pranks, jokes at his expense. Sure, most of them were done by Tony, but Ziva joined in too and Gibbs let them do it. So they were all at fault.　

Tim set his beg by the coat rack, took off his coat and slipped off his shoes. He was surprised that he hadn't been mowed down by 80 pounds of fur. He was about to call out, seeing whether or not Dean was here, but stopped just short when he spotted a piece of paper taped to the wall.　

_Tim,_

_Went out to do some errands. I hope you had a nice day back at work._

_PS; Took Jethro with me._

_Dean._

Tim crumpled up the paper before he threw it in the garbage. He wondered what Dean, the fallen angel, did for a living. And, he hadn't really had time to think about it, but if there are angels then there's bound to other things then too, right? Like the opposite of angel would be demons, then that would mean there would most likely be ghosts, vampires, and werewolves.　

Tim sat on the couch, still in his suit as his mind reeled. Him quitting NCIS flew out the door as his mind went through all the things he knew about the supernatural, all the stories he had heard as a kid, the books he read for fun. All of it came into his head.　

Angels, demons, vampires, werewolves, shape shifters, witches, warlocks, zombies, ghosts, humans that were born with powers like: telekinesis, physic, and all of that who-ha. Like a . . . Hunter?　

There was a sudden breeze, but Tim put it off as having a window open; his mind was changed when a to big ball of fur jumped into his lap, a wet tongue made its way across his open face. Tim sputtered for breath, trying to push the canine off or at least stop, to no avail.　

" **JET** ," that one word was spoken with such authority that both Tim and Jethro froze.　

Tim shook it off, pushing Jethro off his lap and onto the space beside him. He looked up into Dean's emerald eyes and couldn't help the huge smile that split across his face, Dean grinned back.　

-xxx　

Dean had cooked stir-fry for supper that night and it tasted really good, which had actually surprised Tim.　

Because first of all, he had no idea if the angel even needed to eat or if it was just a habit, like: brushing your teeth or driving. And then there was the fact that Dean didn't look the type, Tim looked like the type, but in truth he was horrible at cooking. He could do the simple things like spaghetti, but anything bigger came out a disaster, plus he never had the time for a home cooked meal because of his job—Which he didn't have anymore, so he had all the time in the world. How was he supposed to break the news to Dean?　

"What's wrong?" Dean questioned, his mouth full as he stared intently at Tim.　

And Tim froze for a millisecond, a fork full centimetres from his mouth before continuing its trek. It would have been unnoticed by any human, but

Dean being ever so keen, caught it.　

"Nothing," Tim lied through his teeth, drinking from his coffee mug as he tried to buy some time.

"Really?" Dean asked, putting his fork down.

Tim just nodded.　

"I will find out," Dean promised, his hands in a triangle as they tapped together. "Eventually."　

"What do you do?" Tim asked suddenly, getting an idea.　

There was a beat of silence. "Save people," Dean said simply, "Hunt things."

"Like monsters, right?"　

"Yes," Dean drew the word out suspiciously.　

"Can I come?" Tim asked.　

"Why?"　

"Why not?" Tim countered.　

"Don't you have to work?" Dean asked, stealthily interrogating Tim.　

"Tomorrow, sure, but I have the rest of the week off." Tim said, it was basically the truth. He still had no idea how he was going to explain this to Dean.　

Dean raised an eyebrow in response.　

Tim licked his lips. "Vance made Gibbs give us the rest of the week off; he's a slave driver." He shrugged his shoulders.　

"Okay," Dean nodded, "I guess it couldn't hurt any."　

Tim smiled graciously at the other man, before going back to his stir-fry. Dean watched him with hidden concern.　

-xxx　

Tim went into to work extra, extra early the next morning. He had many things to do before Gibbs came to work.　

The first thing was erase all of his person files and whatnot from the hard drive on the computer before he typed up his resignation; printing two copies, he put one in Gibbs's in-box on his desk, before he took the stairs that would lead him to the unoccupied office of Director Leon Vance.　

Well, at least _his_ office was empty, but his secretary’s wasn‘t.

"Can I help you, Agent McGee?" Javen asked politely.　

"Sure," Tim smiled, "Could you make sure this get's to Director Vance?" he asked, handing Javen his resignation folder.　

"That I can do," Javen smiled back, taking the folder.　

"Thanks, Javen." Tim said before he exited.　

The smile fell from Tim's face as the door closed behind him, leaving a resigned one in its place; he was sure going to miss this place.　

He went back to his desk, about to take on the task of packing his desk when the sound of the elevator made him freeze. Slowly he looked up into the eyes of the man he wanted to avoid the most; Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Tim sat back in his chair, his face scrunched; waiting for what was bound to come.

"McGee," Gibbs said coolly as he sat behind his desk and took a sip from his coffee.　

"Gibbs," Tim said just as coolly.　

The minutes ticked by in silence as Tim started to pack his desk stuff; maybe this was going to be easier then he thought.　

"What happened, Tim?" Gibbs asked.　

Tim paused; things did happen, but things he wasn't permitted to talk about. "What do you mean?" he said instead.　

"Where did I go wrong?" Gibbs asked selfishly.　

Tim blew a breath out of his nose, the fire inside of him reignited. "Everything's always about you, isn't it?" Tim narrowed his eyes.　

Gibbs just stared.　

"You never really wanted me here in the first place, out in the field." Tim continued, he stood up, box in his hands.　

"You’re more use with a keyboard than you are with a gun," Gibbs said simply.

That cut Tim deep; how could he have been so stupid as too look up to this man for seven years? "And you’re more of a bully than anyone’s willing to admit," so it was probably the lamest thing he had ever said, but he was stumped; he had no idea how bad it really was here until now.　

"I'm not going to stop you," Gibbs said, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn't give a crap whether Tim left or not.　

"Have it your way then," Tim whispered, failing to hide the hurt that had been caused as he walked as quickly as he could to the elevator. When the door opened, he didn't even glance back as he jabbed the ground-floor button.　

-xxx　

His apartment was empty when he got back, which was a good thing since he could seem to stop the tears that streamed down his face. Tim never would have imagined that it would cut that deep to hear Gibbs say it out loud. Sure, he had always suspected; the way Gibbs never really let him go out into the field, only when they processed the scene in which they body was found. How Gibbs always stuck him in the lab with the woman who broke his heart. Whenever there was a big operation going down, he was always stuck in the MTAC and never where any of the action was taking place. Whenever he got injured during a case, he never even got a concerned glance. He was the red-headed cousin who nobody really wanted around, but had to keep because his parents left him for the summer.　

He stripped off all his clothes before climbing under his bed covers and curling into a ball, he pulled the covers over his head; leaving him in utter blackness.　

-xxx

Tim rolled over, snuggling closer to the warmth. His cool skin meeting that of warmth was like music to his ears. He buried his face into it, wrapped his arms around it.　

"How was your nap?" Dean asked, kissing the top of Tim's head.　

"I quit my job," Tim told, burying his face in Dean's shoulder.　

"I know," Dean rubbed his back soothingly.　

Tim lifted his head, looking Dean in the eye. "You’re not mad?"　

"Why would I be mad?"

"Because," Tim glanced away, "Only McGirl's quit their jobs."　

"Hey," Dean put a finger under his chin, making it so Tim looked at him. "If you’re a McGirl, than you’re my McGirl." Dean lifted his head and kissed Tim gently.　

Tim's face brightened. "I'm still going with you tomorrow," he maneuvered himself so that he was straddling Dean, he dipped his head, crushing his lips to Dean's.　

Dean's mind went blank, he never new someone could do that with their tongue before. "Sure," he gasped out when Tim let up for air.　

Tim just smiled with triumph as Dean groped his ass.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like Gibbs, sorry about the chapter; I know I made him an ass.


	5. Chapter 5

Tim looked back and forth from the shovel in Dean's hands to the grave at his feet with wide eyes full of disbelief. "You want me to dig up this poor woman’s grave, poor salt on her rotting corpse before I set it a-flame?" he demeaned in a harsh whisper—who knew what would happen if they were ever to get caught.　

Dean looked taken aback by Tim's tone, if only for a second before he returned to his normal demeanour. He jabbed the shovel into the cool earth before he casually leaned on it, using it as a support. "That is what I said,"　

"And you're serious?" Tim asked, calmer this time as he clenched his hands into fists.　

"Do you think that I would joke about something as serious as this—okay scratch that." Dean cut himself off at Tim's look. "You said that you wanted to hunt and this is grade school stuff, Tim."　

Tim looked at Dean and by his expression he could tell that the angel thought that what he was saying was the truth. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he glanced around the dark, eerie graveyard they where in at the moment. Tim did want this, he did want to see what Dean did when he went out to hunt; this was his choice and what would be the point of backing out now? Yes, he probably should have been a little more freaked about it, but he only demanded the cliff notes of this little dig Dean wanted him to do, just so he was sure he had heard it right. But then again, he should have had a heart attack too when Dean had darted him and Jethro in the park and showed Tim his angel wings—and he knew that this was just the beginning.　

Tim looked at the grave of one Mrs. Tara Wilson, and gave her a mental apology before he grabbed the shovel that Dean had been leaning on; Dean caught himself on the head stone behind himself before he could fall. Tim gave him a big smile as Dean tried to brush off the incident with as much dignity as he could.　

Tim started the long and horrendous job of digging a grave.

Which, actually turned out to be very easy. Sure, it may have taken a few hours—especially when Dean didn't help. But he had dug the grave, salted and burned the bones without incident. And in Dean's opinion, that was pure luck because every time he had ever tried to do the simple salt and burn he always got attacked by the ghost.　

-xxx　

Tim just stared at the severed head at his feet as sweat collected on his temples; it was like a gruesome car wreck that you feel like a asshole for looking but can't turn away. He, Timothy McGee had just cut the head off of a human with a machete—correction: vampire. He had jus killed a vampire! It was actually like chasing down a suspect and just cutting their head off before they could bleed into any open wounds or mouths. 　

Tim glanced around himself; suddenly nervous—Dean was nowhere in sight. He was suddenly tense. In the semi-abandoned house he stood in, he and Dean had tracked at least 5 vampires here. They had gotten split up and Tim had only killed one vampire so far, and even being an angel he had no idea if Dean could handle four vampires by himself. And who knew what would happen if he got any vampire blood in him?　

Taking a look around him, Tim determined that he was in the kitchen and the last time he had seen Dean, he was going up the stairs; so Tim supposed that would be the first place he looked. He climbed the stairs with cautious steps; his every sense alert. The one thing that disturbed Tim more then being separated from Dean was that the house was quiet.　

The first room he checked was the master bedroom, which was empty. Next some hallway closets, empty. In the bathroom he found one of the vampires bodies, his head severed—Tim took that as a good sign. In one of the guest bedrooms there was another vampire with a severed head, the other two were empty. So that left two vampires and one Dean unaccounted for. 　

Tim stood in the deserted hallway, looking up at the space in the roof where the pullout ladder was to the attic. Could they be in there? Wouldn't the ladder already be down if they were? Tim chewed the inside of his cheek as he reached for the pull string; Dean was nowhere else in the house.　

Just as Tim grabbed the pull string, he was tackled from behind. The force threw him forward and with his hold on the pulled string the stairs to the attic were yanked open, and going by the sound Tim would say it made contact with flesh. But Tim had no time to think who was hit as his body made contact with, well the glass pane as it so happened. If the tackled had been done by a normal human, then he most likely never would have even made it to the end of the hall where the window was. But as it so happened, no one in this house was human. So Tim and some one else broke through the window and fell two stories to the not so grassy ground below—Tim had the misfortune of being the landing pad. 　

The impacted alone was painful. Having been basically shoved out a window and not having been prepared for it in the first place, made bracing himself very challenging—two stories was by no means a long fall but that didn't mean it couldn't cause horrendous damage. Being tackled from behind had caused Tim to fall out the window face first. A normal reaction was to yell and flail, he did the latter. The way he landed on his arms caused him to at least break two fingers on each hand, his right wrist and his left fore arm in two places. His right knee shattered and his tibia homed a hairline fracture. A scream ripped from his throat, but was cut short when his head had the luck to hit a rock. Blood gushed from the huge gash in his forehead; he was sure to have a level 3 concussion. Tim was out like a light seconds before the one who had tackled him landed on his back.　

-xx　

The next time Tim opened his eyes he was back home in his cozy bed, his head resting on Dean's chest. He snuggled closer and closed his eyes again as Dean ran his fingers through his fringe. Tim remembered vaguely what had happened, about falling out the window and the flaring pain; but it was as if it was a dream he had a few nights before—yet he knew it probably happened only hours earlier. To him, it didn't really matter who had tackled him, just as long as the outcome was the one he had: He was alive and injured no longer, with Dean safe at his side. It didn't matter that he was tackled out a two story window, as long as Dean was safe. Dean was silent as Tim shifted so that his head rested over Dean's heart, and slid his slender hand under Dean's tee and laid it on his flat stomach.

　"I take it the vamps are dead?" Tim said, his voice suspiciously rough. Dean just planted a lingering kiss on the crown of his head. "I'm still going to go hunting with you." Tim told him fact-ly.　

"I was afraid you'd say that," Dean sighed though he didn't stop carding his finger through Tim's hair.　

"I can find a part time job, to pay for the apartment." Tim told Dean in his all business tone, "Then the other half I can hunt with you because even you have to admit that I was pretty good as first-timers go."　

"I guess I can," Dean grumbled. "But if you really want to go and hunt again, there are precautions that we're going to have to take."　

Tim sat up at that, "Like what?"

Dean shifted himself so that he was leaning back against the headboard. Tim watched in confusion as Dean reached under his pillow and pulled out a jackknife; he shifted nervously as Dean examined the knife. Suddenly Dean looked up from the knife and Tim froze; he knew Dean would never, you know, murder him, but he still kept a knife under his pillow. Dean just smirked at him.　

"What do think I'm going to do, Tim? Stab you?"　

"Well, what else what one might do with a knife hidden under their pillow, Dean?" Tim rose an eyebrow.　

"Well, Tim," Dean said slowly as he grabbed Tim's hand and drew a cut on the length of his palm.　

Tim jerked away in surprise, "What the hell, Dean!"　

"What?" Dean looked up from the own cut in his palm. "I didn't stab you,"　

"Yeah, well you cut me and I would just love to know the reason!" Tim held his now bleeding hand in his lap; away from Dean the knife wielding crazy.　

Dean just shook his head in exasperation as he gripped Tim cut hand with his own. Tim eyes widened and he tried to jerk his hand free but Dean's grip was too tight.　

"Dean, what the hell? Let go!"　

"If you want to hunt then you'll calm the hell down!" Dean yelled back.

Tim did calm down, if only in tongue and movement; he was seething inside. "And how is you giving the both of use blood poisoning going to help either of us hunt?"　

Dean's eye twitched. "I am an angel. You are the decedent of a fallen angel." he waited for Tim to nod before he continued. "I know you've been feeling different ever since I came and it's not because of the fact that I'm an angel. Me being around you, it awoken something inside of you; the fallen angel part. And with the exchange of our blood, it'll bond us together and make you stronger, heal faster, everything—just as if you where a half way marker." He cupped Tim's cheek and stroked it with his thumb. "It's going to keep you safe and it'll make me feel better when we're on a hunt." He didn't avert his eyes from Tim's in embarrassment because he knew Tim needed to hear it, to see it.　

Finally, Tim squeezed his hand back in acceptance.　

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now Timothy Gregory McGee is officially a Hunter if only a Probie Hunter - plus he's going to get some special angel powers.


	6. Epilogue

It was early afternoon and Tim sat at the diner booth waiting for Dean to meet him. Dean had chosen this diner for a reason that was unknown to Tim. But he seemed to love these places; with their specials and greasy diner food. Tim didn't asked or deny Dean this because he knew that for some reason it was special to the other man; like an old tradition when he was once human. They would come to here about five times a week; breakfast, lunch, and super. It didn't matter what meal, because if it made Dean happy Tim would do it—even if he had to workout more to keep from gaining any extra weight.　

He took a sip from his steaming coffee as he glanced around the diner. It was quiet and not so crowded as most restaurants would be, even on a working day. He leaned back and settled into the seat and just as his eyes slid closed the bell above the door rang. He opened his eyes just as—Tony DiNozzo—slid into his booth. It took a second for his brain to kick in, but when it did, boy did he actually not know what to do. So he just sat up, stared and hoped that, well, it would be over soon.　

"What do you want, DiNozzo?" Tim growled, his fists clenched in his lap.　

"Whoa, Probie, what got your panties in a bunch?" Tony held his hands up in a non-threatening manner.　

That just made Tim ground his teeth. "How did you find me?"　

Tony glanced away.　

"You got Abby to track my cell, didn't you?"　

"It was her idea,"　

"I quit, Tony, I'm never going back. You're just going to have to find some other Probie to torment."　

"I know," Tony sighed; which was a surprise to Tim, yet it wasn't at all. "Gibbs already replaced you."

Just another cut that went deeper than Tim would have thought; how come he was easily replaceable, but when it's anyone else on the team, Gibbs always tries to get them back? "Typical," he said under his breath. Louder he said, "What do want, Tony?"　

"I wanted to know why you quit, Probie."　

"I'm not a Probie anymore, and I quit because NCIS turned out not to be my calling."　

Tony scoffed. "NCIS was your life; you even said it was like your dream job because you couldn't join the Navy like your father."　

Before Tim could comment the bell above the door rang and Dean walked in, though he stopped short as he saw Tim with someone in his booth. It took him a second to recognize the back of that head, but he knew that he was right when he met Tim's eyes. Casually, Dean slid into the booth beside Tim, his arms resting on the back of the seat behind Tim's shoulders.　

He gave Tony a fake smile, "Anthony DiNozzo, I take it."　

Tony looked at him suspiciously before he turned back to Tim. "You know this guy, Probie."　

"He has a name," Dean said calmly. "And it's not Probie. So I suggest you use it, Junior."

Tony's head snapped to Dean, "What did you just say?"　

"I said he has a name, so use it." Dean smirked, "Junior."　

Tony ground his teeth together. "How can I be Junior if I'm older than you?"　

"So you do admit that you're middle aged." Tim chuckled.　

"I am not middle aged," Tony ground out, "And I didn't come here to get picked on by some stranger!"　

"Then why _did_ you come here, Tony?" Tim asked.　

"I . . . don't know." Tony sat back. "You've been on the team for seven years, Tim. And then out of nowhere you just up and quit, not wanting to see anyone from NCIS, not even Abby. Screening your calls and you're never at your apartment."　

"Screening my calls?" Tim asked, confused. "No one has called since I quit."　

"Ooh," Dean didn't look the least bit guilty. "You could say that I had a hand in that." Tim hit him in the chest as a repercussion for his actions, but that just caused Dean smirk even harder.　

"Who are you?" Tony asked again.　

"Me?" Dean said, playing dumb. "I probably someone you needn’t concern yourself with."　

Tony just glared as he got up and left.　

"You didn't have to be so rude, Dean." Tim admonished.　

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "What do you want?"　

"I'll have whatever you're having,"　

Life was good for Tim, not like the diner food, especially the amount that Dean seemed to consume—angel or not.　

 


End file.
